The Wolf of Diagon Alley
by Sagajagan
Summary: In search of limitless wealth and power Harry chins off Auror training and became a stock broker. A stock broker of dubious ethics and morales. However by the time of the Muggle Global Financial Crisis, Harry's empire is unravelling as the authorities begin to strike back.


**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, I'd be writing the real thing.  
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**The Wolf of Diagon Alley**

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My lawyer grips my collar and slaps me, actually fucking slaps me, harshly on the cheek. 'Harry, sit down and shut the fuck up you hot-headed prick,' he says in his thick Cockney accent. 'Listen to me and listen well. You have no friends left in this world. Gringotts and the Goblins want your head on a pike and there are at least two Ministry of Magic departments investigating your arse. Half of the Wizengamot would like to see you go down and the other half simply think you're a giant cunt. The Muggles are on to you too- the Serious Fraud Office, Revenue and Customs, the Financial Services Authority- and that's just in Britain! The Americans, French, Japanese, Australians, hell even the Swiss are pissed off at you. And that it self is just government agencies. There are a long list of shady people that you've swindled money from that would love nothing more than to see you at the bottom of the Thames estuary with an axe in your face.'

I stumble for words, trying to come up with a witty and snarky response that had become my trade mark over the years, but I had nothing, which greatly amused my lawyer, Amadeus Barrington. 'Well fuck me sideways, what's this? Is Harry fuckin' Potter lost for words?'

I continue to say nothing and simply try to gather my thoughts into some coherent logic. This was all so sudden. Up until before today, I literally thought that I was King of the World. Obviously I suspected some heat, but nothing like this. It can't end like this! I had to think up of a plan, because now that I think of it, I don't really want to go to prison, Muggle or magical, nor do I want to die. Both of those occurrences would be a major inconvenience.

In the end I decide to do what I do best when shit hits the fan- go for a drink. And when I say a drink, I mean a few. And when I say a few, I mean a few dozen. Ignoring his protests, I storm out of his office, out of the building, and into the street before apparating to Belgrave Square, home of one of the swankiest and most exclusive Wizarding gentlemen's clubs in the country, ney, the entirety of the fucking world- The Fairfax Club. You have to be nominated and elected to become a member, and even then membership still costs 25,000 Galleons a year. I managed to get my way in by blackmailing someone into nominating me, then bribing everyone to vote for me. As you do.

The extortionate price is worth it though, I think to myself as I recline in a luxury chair lined with Hippogriff leather in one of the club's VIP lounges. I'm in a VIP lounge in an exclusive gentlemen's club where being very important is the standard- that should give you some idea as to just how very fucking important I am around here. Or rather, how much money I have!

In one hand I have a 230 Galleon cigar. I can almost taste the blood, sweat and tears of the child labourers who harvested the tobacco. In the other hand I have a glass of vintage Ogden's firewhisky. Now this is no normal Ogden's firewhisky. This is the top, top shit, laid to barrel in 1931, and each single measure makes my wallet 170 Galleons lighter. I've started to calm down a little, but not quite enough. I reach into the inside jacket pocket of my 3,000 Galleon suit and unveil to myself a bag of cocaine. Yes, I do cocaine. Got a problem with that? Well go suck a dick, frankly, because I couldn't give a shit.

After snorting up a good portion of the good white stuff, I lay down my glass and glance at the 50,000 Galleon _Roger W Smith_ watch on my wrist. I've organised a meeting of what I like to call my 'Brain Trust', my most trusted and loyal lieutenants, so we can think up a solution to my current predicament. They should be here in about an hour.

Now you may be thinking to yourself 'Jesus Christ, this guy is a vain prick. Like seriously, a total and utter cunt.' And to be fair, you'd be right. I'm vain, and I'm a prick, and I'm a bit of a cunt. I like to think that that is how I managed to be so successful. Nice guys finish last. But it didn't always used to be like this. There was a time when I was a fresh faced teen who had just, you know, defeated a dark lord and saved the country, and I had ideals and principle, and wanted to be an Auror and actually help people. Oh, how fucking naive I was back then! But I digress.

I hear footsteps creeping up behind me. Is this my Brain Trust? Is it fuck! Two suited up gentlemen have the nerve to interrupt my drinking and smoking session and nonchalantly pull up chairs opposite me.

I glare at them. They glare at me. I continue glaring at them. They continue glaring back at me. They break first, the fuckers. The guy on my left, a gaunt bald geezer with the most epic moustache I have ever witnessed, ever, leans forward and stretches out a hand. 'Mr. Potter, I'm Inspector Guston, and this is Sergeant Elphick, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We'd like to ask you a few questions.'

I sip some more whiskey, cross my legs and ignore the outstretched hand. I sigh, heavily exaggerated.

Inspector Guston looks a little bit irate as he withdraws his hand. 'Mr. Potter, do you know why we're here?'

I lean forward and grip both arms of my couch, staring intently at the duo. 'Because you're both miserable pricks who have nothing better to do than to harass law abiding citizens such as myself.'

Guston chuckles casually to himself. 'Didn't your mother ever teach you to show respect to law enforcement?' He then theatrically slaps his forehead. 'Oh no, wait, that's right, sorry, she went and got herself killed when you were a kid.'

'I heard she did it because she couldn't stand the prospect of raising such an evil shit of a baby,' Elphick chimes in, to which Guston nods.

'Woah!' I lean back in my chair and grin. 'There we go, some nice friendly banter to break the ice. Can I get you fine young protectors of society something to drink?'

'No, we can't drink on the job,' Guston explains.

'That's good, because I was only being polite, I wasn't really going to buy you two pricks a drink anyhow,' I reply snidely. Man I can be such an arsehole sometimes can't I?

Guston ignores my last comment and reaches into his suit and draws out a notepad which he starts flicking through. 'Mr Potter, do you know what investment fraud is?'

'I'm a stockbroker, of course I know what frickin' investment fraud is.' I roll my eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

Guston nods and taps his chin. 'And do you know that investment fraud is illegal under Wizengamot decree 147967, the Fraud Act 1929, punishable by up to ten years in Azkaban?'

I nod in between taking puffs of my cigar.

'And do you know what corporate fraud is, Mr Potter,' Guston continues.

I once again nod. I'm not a fucking idiot, of course I know what these things are.

'And do you know that corporate fraud is illegal?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know what bribery is?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know that bribery is illegal?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know what embezzlement is?'

'Yes.'

'Do you know that embezzlement is illegal?'

'Yes, yes, yes, do you have a fucking point officers?'

'Well, Mr Potter, I'm just wondering if when you know full well what all of these acts are, and you know full well that they are all against the law, why you would engage in such crimes. This is not an insignificant list I have here- Extortion, forgery, cheque fraud, blackmail, tax evasion, etcetera etcetera. This doesn't really comply with your claims of being an innocent law abiding citizen.'

'I haven't the foggiest what you're harping on about, Inspector Guston. I am an honest worker who earns an honest wage. I've never broken the law, ever, in the history of ever.' I smile smugly. The 'game' is on. The great cat-and-mouse chase between myself and the police, the outcome of which will dictate my future freedom.

The good inspector's is clearly about to respond, but is interrupted by a high pitched shout.

'WHAT THE FUCK?'

I jump with a start, and turn to see my Brain Trust- Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Lester McMahon and Ragmar Twycross- with a clearly very irate Amadeus Barrington, my lawyer, in tow.

'Why are you talking to my client without me?' Barrington continues to chunt. 'I'll have your jobs for this!'

I try to get Amadeus to calm the fuck down, after all this is a gentlemen's club and I have my reputation to think about, but it is to no avail. He continues ranting and raving at the two officers, who quietly beat a hasty exit, but not before not-so-subtly letting me know that they were going to take my arse down. Barrington then turns his wrath and fury towards me. 'Why the fuck did you run out of my office? Why the fuck are you talking to two police officers without me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you want to spend the rest of your fucking life in Azkaban? It's a good fucking thing Weasley here came and got me when you called for him. You fucking idiot.' For the second time today he slaps me hard across the cheek.

'Ow! Bloody hell Amadeus. Stop bloody hitting me. And stop shouting fuck!'

'I'll stop hitting you and stop shouting fuck when you stop being so fucking stupid.' He turns to the Brain Trust. 'You five, sit down and shut the fuck up. Time is of the essence. You think the DMLE has just cottoned on to you? They've been building a case against you for the last six years. If you six muppets want to ever see your children graduate, then it is imperative that we move fast. Okay, here's what you're going to do…'


End file.
